I wake to soft cries that fill my mind.
Bright pools of blood soak within my nightmares,
I watch it drip from delicate fingertips.
Memories flood with crimson rainfalls.
A night not long ago haunts me in the morning light.
His lips were stained with my name,
Such poetry and yet, blood is my only ink.
His blood has me in the silhouettes of his destruction.
So, I play with his shadows,
Dancing with the slaughtered souls, faded into the echo of bloodless tears.
I write down their names, hoping to hear them sing to me one day.
Their whispers are etched in my scarlet letters.
His words are never forgotten as blood breaks the sound of a shattered heartbeat.
This is what haunts me.
About the Creator
A. Raphael
Poetry is my first love, and writing words onto paper is my therapy. Maybe my submissions will make you feel something, too.
If you find something in my words, then it is my pleasure.
A. Raph
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